And let’s include all analysts, therapists, and psychologists.
My worst was a guy who wanted to hear about my sexual issues a little too much and seemed to be licking his liver lips over every one of them.
Even worse, he blurted during one session that he’d told people at a party about me!
Not exactly the height of professional discretion, do you think?
The second worst was a brilliant but tough-love kind of gal who told me she couldn’t wait to delve into my psyche and find out why I’d fucked up even more things than I’d told her about.
She was certain I’d messed up just about every single aspect of my sad little life.
She had an even bleaker view of my self-sabotaging tendencies than I did!
Worse, though we’d already arranged an hourly rate, she told me during the first session that we could later agree on a permanent rate — i.e., she wanted a raise!
Rather than fuck up one more aspect of my life, I raised hell and left.